You've got to go on
by Frankie McStein
Summary: The feelings of a poet after the death of his soul


Disclaimer- All hail the great and mighty Baz. God, visionary, owner of these characters...  
  
  
Go On.  
  
  
What's the point of finding your soul mate if you're only going to lose yourself when they go?  
They don't always go. They don't always walk into your life either, not that my soul mate actually walked' into my life. She swung, and no she wasn't a jungle creature. She was the sparkling diamond. She was the star of the Moulin Rouge.   
  
I didn't know her long, the amount of time it had took to write and produce a play is the amount of time we had together.   
No long years, no watching the time go by. Just a few short weeks, and then she was gone. Now I'm watching the world go by without her, without me, for despite her imploring words, I can't go on without her.   
  
I have my friends, I have my writing, I have my dreams, I should be happy for what I have, but my writing was fuelled by dreams, and dreams are all focused on one person.  
  
My friends try their best, but it was through them that I met her, and I can't look at them without seeing her. Maybe I'm going crazy. I've heard that grief can do that, unhinge the mind. but, it's not my mind that is feeling pain, it's soul. My soul, that is longing for something it can never have. My soul, that is aching for healing that it can never receive. My soul, that has found, and lost, the other half of it's self.  
  
How long can I go on like this? Missing her, wanting her. Her smile was so bright that now that it's gone darkness seems to have taken hold of my existence. The only light I see now is the end of my earthly walk. Much as I wish I could speed its occurrence, I am stopped by a promise, one I will not even dream of breaking, no matter great the temptation.   
  
*You've got to go on Christian.  
I can't go on without you.*  
  
Twelve simple words, and yet they haunt my existence even as they deny me my escape, for these words, despite their negativity are the words that form the promise that I have made. A promise that I won't cut short my life. But how can I live without her? How can I really say I'm living at all?  
The only time I've truly been alive was when I was with her. My body may still be here, but my spirit died with her.  
  
*I'm sorry Christian*  
  
I don't know what she apologised for. For dying, for not telling me she was so seriously sick, for what she knew her death would do me. I'll never know. I'll never be able to ask. It's hard to believe I'll never hear her voice again, but she's gone. I wish I had gone with her, I wish I can go to her.   
  
I have nothing left here. All I ever had was my writing, but now I don't even have that. The words don't sound right anymore. Nothing is right anymore.  
  
*You've got so much to give.*  
  
She gave me so much, all I gave her was a play, and that wasn't enough. All our efforts were undermined, and an ending more final than anything I could ever create was written and played out. No rehearsals, no editing, we only had one chance to get it right, and, true to form, she was word perfect.  
  
Even then, even as she was lying in my arms with fear in her eyes, she was in control. She knew what was happening and she must have known what would happen after.   
  
Why else would she try to give me hope to carry through even as she doomed me to a life without her? Life without her is life without love. I taught her life without love was terrible with my words, she taught me the truth behind those words with her death.   
  
A life without love, a life without her. How am I supposed to live without her? Am I supposed to live without her?  
  
*Promise me*  
  
And I did. I promised I would go on. I promised I would keep her with me, the only way I could.   
  
Driven by my promise, by her last words, I started typing, and, for the first time since her death, my dreams helped.   
  
I wanted to stop. So many times the pain of the memories washed over me and my hands would freeze over the keys as the tears rolled down my cheeks.   
  
*Tell our story Christian, promise me that way I'll always be with you*  
  
Her voice guided me, strengthened me. I couldn't stop, I would be losing her all over again, and, though I've lived through it once, I'm not strong enough to live through it twice.   
So, no matter what, I'll tell our story. No matter what, I'll keep my promise.   
  
Come what may I will go on.  
  
  
  
  
Well, there you go. Let me know what you think but remember, flames are for fires,not for computers. If you've got them, keep them to yourself.


End file.
